


A Chivalrous Contract

by inamac



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Mild D/s, Multi, mpreg/parasitism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-25
Updated: 2010-05-25
Packaged: 2017-10-13 11:52:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/137039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inamac/pseuds/inamac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Since the Middle Ages it has been the custom for pure-blood wizard boys to serve as squire to another family. The Longbottom and Malfoy families do not break with tradition – even after a war...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Chivalrous Contract

**Author's Note:**

> This is a revised version of a story written as a pitch-hit for **HP_Rarities** 2010\. **bgreenwivy** asked for Lucius/Severus and top-Neville, funny slice of life happenings, mpreg, mysteries, secret admirers, denial, jealousy, humour. I managed to shoehorn most of them in, though perhaps not as she'd have intended. This version has a different final section and changed motivation for Lucius (who, in my universe, does not play 'bottom' for anyone - unless in a production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ ).

# A Chivalrous Contract

It's funny how things turn out. I mean funny peculiar, not funny ha-ha, though sometimes it's that too.

I mean, back in the Olden Times – way back when Merlin was still around – it was usual for the sons of Gentlewizards to be sent to some relative as a page, and eventually a squire, and get their education that way. That was one of the silly things about Salazar Slytherin's insistence on having pure bloods in his House – the only wizards who were sent to Hogwarts were second sons, or half-bloods, or unmarriageable girls. The really important families, the Blacks, the Prewetts, the Malfoys and the Longbottoms stuck to the old traditions. At least, until Dumbledore took over as Headmaster and persuaded the authorities to make school attendance compulsory for every wizard regardless of origin or status.

Not that I'd have ever have been considered important enough to be fostered in the traditional sense – even if my parents had been in a position to agree the necessary contracts. And of course, after what Bellatrix did to them there was no question of the Longbottom family ever speaking to the Blacks again, let alone being Sorted into Slytherin.

So the last place I'd expected to end up after the war was on the steps of Malfoy Manor with a suitcase in one hand and a signed and sealed Fostering Contract in the other.

It had been the idea of some bright newcomer to the Ministry. After the war and the destruction of Hogwarts and Azkaban, the Ministry were looking for ways to cope with the education of young wizards, and the punishment of those who had survived on the losing side. So they turned back to the old tradition. With a twist.

They'd asked me whether I'd need an escort – with the implication that the bumbling kid would need a keeper to find his own arse – and I'd refused with a polite reminder of who, exactly, had decapitated Nagini and given Harry Potter the opportunity to finish the Dark Lord for once and for all. I have to do that a lot lately, but I hadn't expected it from the very Court Officers who had suggested sending me to act as live-in probation officer for Lucius Malfoy.

The echoes of the doorbell died away and the heavy oak swung open. I admit that I'd expected to see either a House Elf, or an empty hallway, before I remembered that the Malfoys no longer had the former, and the spells necessary to achieve the latter were forbidden to them. Lucius Malfoy himself had opened the door, and stood there, long fingers still on the door handle, and apparently as confused as I was about the etiquette of this particular situation.

Naturally, he recovered first.

"Longbottom. What are you doing here?"

"I think this will explain everything." I bowed and held out the folded parchment. He looked at it as if it might bite him, and then took it with his free hand, using the other to push the door wide. I took the motion as an invitation to enter and stepped across the threshold, the suitcase trundling beside me. When I turned back Mr Malfoy had unfolded the Contract and was reading it through with an expression of distaste on his pointed face.

"You're a little old to be my Squire," he said.

I smiled. The Ministry had had to explain the details to me, and I wasn't surprised that Malfoy hadn't grasped the duplicity of the legal language. "Age is irrelevant," I said. "My job is to keep an eye on you – to squire you whenever you go in public. And in return, you provide me with 'such education as seems fit for a Gentlewizard'. Which means, if you read the modern small print, access to the Malfoy library and herb gardens for my research purposes."

(And yes, that had been my price for agreeing to this arrangement – the Malfoys had a very long history of expertise in the Natural Magics – alchemy, herbology, potion-making – far longer than their association with the Dark Arts.)

"I see." Mr Malfoy's tone was acerbic and ever so slightly baffled. He obviously wasn't at all clear about what was going on, but years of dealing with the Ministry and the Dark Lord had taught him to prevaricate. I had no doubt that as soon as he had the chance he'd dissect the terms of the contract with surgical precision.

Meanwhile the social conventions kicked in, and he showed me to one of the guest rooms with something approaching civility.

And then he went off – presumably to examine the contract in his study, and I concentrated on unpacking and making myself at home. Not for the first time I wondered what I'd got myself into this time.

***

As it turned out living at Malfoy Manor wasn't as bad as I'd feared. Mr Malfoy and I were pretty much alone. Narcissa had gone off to stay with her sister (the living, sane one) while they sorted out the Black family inheritance – which wouldn't be too difficult given that Teddy Lupin and Draco Malfoy were the only living male heirs – and I knew that Harry intended to pass Grimmauld Place to Teddy as soon as he came of age. Draco had been 'fostered' with the Weasleys; which may have been a joke on the part of the Ministry but I suspected that Draco had always been slightly envious of the Weasley family's easy-going lifestyle, and he was as curious in his own way about Muggle stuff as Mr Weasley, so he wouldn't be too upset about it.

Mr Malfoy fumed about it, of course. He spent most of his days penning furious letters to the Ministry and screeds of advice to both his wife and son. None of which received any reply that I ever saw. I didn't worry. It kept him occupied while I had the run of the library and the gardens.

It was a couple of days after my arrival when I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of footsteps and quiet voices overhead.

I lay there for a while, listening, trying to work out what it was. I'm used to old houses and ghosts – even before Hogwarts – and it wasn't that. It might have been house elves, or human servants, but the Ministry hadn't allowed the Malfoys to keep those – even our food was sent in by Floo from Ministry-approved suppliers and catering services. There were definitely footsteps. And the scrape of furniture – a chair being pulled back from a table – unidentifiable clicks and thumps that might have been food being prepared, or consumed, or a game being played – cards, chess, mah jong. After a while there was a creak as of bedsprings, and then an intermittent thumping that I'd become all to familiar with at Hogwarts – the sound of an enthusiastic sexual coupling – without the vocalisations that would make what was happening all too obvious to everyone else in the dorm.

It hadn't worked at school, and it didn't work now. I didn't see why whoever was up there should have all the fun. I curled my fingers round my semi-aroused cock and wanked myself to ejaculation. By the time I'd come down off the high, and cleaned the bed, the sounds overhead had stopped.

***

Over breakfast the next day I asked Mr Malfoy about the noises. Or at least the mundane ones. A fleeting expression that might have been panic crossed his face, but so swiftly that I couldn't be sure what I'd seen. His answer was bland enough.

"This is an old house. It expect it's just the ghosts. Don't let it bother you."

I thought about that for a bit, as I'd done while listening to the rhythmic thumping and creaking the night before. Ghosts didn't seem likely in the attics. I couldn't imagine any Malfoy ancestor who would even know that the attic existed. Let alone engaging in the activities I'd heard. I said as much (without, of course, mentioning the nature of the activities), while I helped myself to a slice of toast.

He shrugged. "As far as I know there's nothing in the attics. Just dust and cobwebs and a lot of old family junk. Maybe one of the portraits is complaining."

I doubted the dust and cobwebs. Wizarding houses have housecleaning charms in place and I’d not seen a speck of dust in the Manor – not even in the furthest reaches of the library.

I wondered what it was that Mr Malfoy was hiding. But, as Gran says, I'm not as green as I'm cabbage-looking, and I wasn't going to challenge him. I matched his shrug. "I don't mind ghosts," I said. "But if there's some of your old family papers up there I'd like to take a look sometime. There might be something I’d find useful."

"I doubt it." He looked a little more relaxed now, but still wary. "In any case, the place is locked up and I have no idea where the key is. Probably confiscated when the Aurors last searched the place." He smiled, quite insincerely. "Such things are the business of the house elves, and since I am no longer allowed them…"

I didn't point out that house elves don't need keys. I was pretty sure by now that Mr Malfoy was hiding something in that attic. And that he knew exactly where the keys were – probably in his waistcoat pocket as we spoke, if the unconscious gesture of his right hand in that direction was any indication.

I picked up a slice of toast and spread marmalade on it. "You're right. I've got plenty of work to do in the gardens."

We concluded the breakfast in silence.

***

I might have let it go at that. I mean, if I'd had family ghosts who indulged in midnight bonking in the attic I'd probably deny all knowledge too. And I fully intended to forget all about it, if it hadn't been for an odd incident later that day.

I was out in the greenhouses on the South side of the Manor, which is the area my bedroom overlooks. I'm not sure whether that was a deliberate decision on Malfoy's part – and if so whether he'd been considering the convenience of my being able to keep an eye on the state of the garden and the green-house ventilators, or making a calculated insult since guests don't usually get the view of the vegetable garden when there are rooms with a far more impressive prospect of the front drive with its fountains and spectacular floral displays.

But I wasn't complaining. And the view worked both ways. If I could see the greenhouse from my room, I could also see my room from the greenhouse.

I was preparing to cross-pollinate an unusual species of Hopping Bindvine when I realised that I'd left the fine brush that I need for the job on the dressing table in my room. Rather than trail back to the house I picked up my wand and looked up at the facade of the Manor, trying to identify my window and see whether I'd left it open enough to be able to Summon the brush through the gap.

It wasn't easy finding the right window. Malfoy Manor is a very old house and has been added to and rebuilt over the centuries. The roofline was a jumble of gable-ends and twisted chimney stacks. I eventually identified the right window by the row of plant pots I'd put on the windowsill with some of the more tender germinating seedlings that I'd not trusted in the greenhouse. The casement was slightly open – enough for the needed brush – and I had just cast the 'accio' charm when something above the window caught my attention. Up in the gable-end, where there should have been nothing but the blank wall of the attic, was a small round window. And, for just an instant, there was a shimmer of movement behind the glass. I had the impression of a figure drawing back from the window to avoid my gaze.

Which was interesting. Portraits don't look out of windows. And ghosts don't hide from observers.

As the brush slapped neatly into my hand I resolved to do a little more investigating of the attics of Malfoy Manor.

***

I had my opportunity just before our evening meal. Malfoy insisted on dressing for dinner, despite the fact there were only the two of us in the house, and no house elves to provide a proper service. He said that it was to keep up the correct standards, and to ensure that I should experience the appropriate training for a Gentlewizard, as required by the Ministry Contract, but I suspected that he just enjoyed the opportunity to display his impressively large and expensive wardrobe of dress robes and accessories.

Whatever it was, he could be relied on to spend a good couple of hours about his grooming so I knew I'd have a chance to explore.

I put on my own dress robes first, so that if he did catch me I could say I was on my way down for dinner, but when I reached the end of the corridor I climbed up the stairway instead of down.

I was careful to keep my feet at the junction of tread and wall, where the wood was les likely to creak and betray me, and reached the top of the house without incident. There were pale spaces on the walls where portraits had been removed, and it wasn't until I saw them that I wondered whether they had been taken by the Auror squad, or removed deliberately so that they could not give warning of anyone passing up this stairway and into the attics. In any case I was grateful for their absence.

At the top of the stairway there was a short corridor running off at an angle and with a sloping roof which meant that I had to keep to the right hand side in order to stand upright. It was thickly carpeted, which was unusual for a servant's quarters, but did help to muffle my footsteps.

When I reached the end of the corridor I found my way blocked by a heavy door covered with dark green baize, and with an ornate, well-oiled brass lock. There was a small alcove to one side, with a shelf wide enough to set down a loaded breakfast tray, and a hook above from which hung a candlestick. A small box screwed to the wall held candles and, surprisingly for a wizard's household, a flint and steel, and a few matches.

I examined the lock carefully. I didn't dare to try the handle and perhaps alert anyone inside to the fact that I was outside.

It was obvious from the matchbox that whoever came here didn't use a wand, but I drew mine, touched it to the lock and whispered _Alohomora_. It didn't work. Well, I hadn't expected it to. This was an old Wizarding house and would have all the usual security charms in place. Even if I'd had the key I doubted that it would turn without its master's hand to guide it.

In any case, I'd run out of time. I turned and made my way back down the stairs. I'd just reached the first floor when the dinner gong sounded below. A moment later Mr Malfoy emerged from his dressing room, long fingers busy fastening his cuffs with amethysts the size of pigeon's eggs.

He looked at me, and glanced up the stairway. I was pretty sure he hadn't seen me descend, but I was still on the step above the landing. I couldn't read his expression – anger or concern? And his voice was casual, betraying nothing. He merely nodded.  
"Ah, Longbottom. I think you'll find that the dining room is this way." And he led the way down, his long fingers light on the banister-rail, and the hem of his robe whispering rhythmically against each baluster as he moved.

With a quick glance back up the stairs to that mysterious locked door, I followed.

***

The Ministry catering service had provided another four-course meal that would not have disgraced a visiting ambassador . I wondered whether they had been so lavish when Malfoy had been their only diner, or whether the cost was being met by the Malfoy vaults. In any event it was worth lingering over, and I'd put aside all thoughts of the secret of the locked attic, until we were finishing the meal with cheese and fruit and Malfoy himself raised it.

"I do hope that you're not planning on exploring the upper floors of this house alone," he said, pouring the last of the bottle of wine we'd been sharing into my goblet.

I shrugged. "I was just curious about the noises. I didn't think it sounded like ghosts."

"And you are an expert on ghosts? Or do you think that I have some mad woman up there? An inconvenient relative locked away for her own good?" His grin was feral for an instant, and then he frowned. "I'm sorry to disappoint you. The late war disposed of the most obvious candidates for that role, though there were certainly times when I would have been glad to lock my sister-in-law in the attic – and throw away the key."

I really hadn't wanted to be reminded of Bellatrix Lestrange, and the distaste must have shown on my face, because Malfoy looked at me with calculation. I wondered whether he'd deliberately mentioned her to divert me. If he had, that was intriguing. Then he turned away, making a casual dismissive motion with his goblet.

"I really don't understand why you're so obsessed with the attics when my cellars are much more interesting." He lifted his glass to examine the dark red liquid. "Much more interesting," he repeated. "In fact, if you are to be my 'squire' I do think that I should be teaching you more of the traditional accomplishments of a gentlewizard. Let us start with your palate. What do you think of that?"

He nodded, indicating my own goblet. I had a sudden panicky thought that he might have put something in the wine. The mouthful I had just taken seemed suddenly choking. I swallowed, and the taste filled my senses. Common sense prevailed. No one with Malfoy's pretensions would have dreamed of spiking a Château Pétrus.

"Muggle wine?" I said. "I didn't expect you to be serving that – even to an unwanted guest."

"A very good Muggle wine," he said. "I see your grandmother didn’t entirely neglect your education. And I assure you that you are not unwanted."

He wiped his lips and set aside his napkin. Then rose to his feet. "I think it's time that I did something to expand on that education. Come along, Longbottom."

I followed him out of the dining room and along the corridor to the service quarters where Malfoy paused to unlock a green baize door which was the twin of the one upstairs. I'd been right about where he kept the house keys, he spun the bunch on the end of its long chain from his waistcoat pocket with a flourish. There was no way I'd ever be able to steal those from him.

The cellars beyond the door were cool, vaulted red-brick chambers. They clearly pre-dated the house by a few centuries and I didn't need my host to identify the stone relief carved into the end wall as that of the Roman god Mithras slaying a rather soppy-looking bull. Mr Malfoy nodded at my identification, concerned more with selecting bottles of wine from the racks in the alcoves along the walls. "Yes. It was a private temple. A fair number of my ancestors were Mithranic priests. Where did you think I got my given name?"

He didn't wait for an answer, which was just as well as I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. Having made a selection of some half dozen bottles, he set them down on the lid of an upright barrel that formed an impromptu table and applied a corkscrew with an expertise that suggested he had been getting a lot of practice in using the Muggle implement rather than spells since losing his wand.

But if I’d had Voldemort as a house-guest I might have spent my time hiding in the wine cellar too.

He poured two goblets from the first bottle and handed one to me. The leaf-green colour told me that it was elf-made wine. I sipped it carefully.

"Personally," said Malfoy, "I think it tastes like dishwater but it is supposed to have aphrodisiac qualities. What do you think?"

I almost choked on it. Why was Lucius Malfoy feeding me love potions?

Gran had warned me about elf-made wine. She had also warned me about Mr Malfoy – and look where that had got me.

"I think you're right about the taste." I said.

He nodded. He still hadn't tasted his own glassful. "And the effects?"

There was nowhere to expectorate. I swallowed, and looked desperately around the room, trying to find something to divert this line of questioning. My eye lit on the old Roman carving. "Do you still worship Mithras?" I asked.

He looked thoughtful, as if considering the question. His eyes met mine, and he smiled.

"I suppose that if I worship anything I worship cock."

Dammit, the wine was an aphrodisiac, because as soon as he said the word 'cock' mine responded.

And he saw it.

The smile became even wider.

"And yours looks worth worshiping," he said.

"I'm…. I'm your Contracted Squire." I stammered.

"You're hard," he stated, "And I am Contract-bound to ensure your comfort while you are in my… service. I did read the small-print."

"But…" His hands parted my robes, and I felt the hard starched edge of his cuffs, the coldness of the amethyst links against my exposed stomach.

"I did say you weren't an unwanted guest," he added, taking the glass from me with one hand while the other closed over my erection.

"I don't…"

"Oh I think you do," he said, kneeling in one fluid movement, never moving his grip. "Yes. I think you'll do."

And his mouth descended.

I'll give Lucius Malfoy this, he's very good at providing distractions.

And superb at giving head.

***

I woke the morning after still slightly groggy with lust and practically glued to Lucius (it was definitely 'Lucius' now and not 'Mr Malfoy') by the drying stickiness of come and the tangle of bedsheets. Since I was the only one with a wand clean-up duties fell to me, and I’d been literally too shagged out last night to bother.

We hadn't made it back to our rooms. I wasn't entirely sure where we were, except that the room was cool, windowless, and had an Emperor-sized bed. The murals on the walls appeared to depict the gradually debauched stages of a classical orgy.

I extracted myself carefully from his prone body and went in search of a loo. What I found at the end of the corridor was a complete, fully functioning, Roman bath-house. Malfoy hadn't been joking about his ancestors. Clearly the cellars were not the only surviving part of the old Roman villa that had stood here.

Fortunately the old spells maintaining the heating and plumbing seemed to be working, and I didn't see why I shouldn't take advantage of it.

Half an hour later I was indulging in a luxurious, leisurely bath in what had been the caldarium of the original complex. The water was comfortably hot, and I was idly examining the mosaic on the floor of the bath which depicted Zeus and Ganymede and wondering whether that activity was physically possible, when Lucius joined me. He didn't seem at all surprised at finding me here, or embarrassed by what had happened last night. In fact he gave me a long look, dropped the bathrobe he was wearing, and slipped into the water next to me. A moment later, still with no word spoken, he was demonstrating yet again his astonishing breath-control while going down on me while partially submerged. And _that_ was a sight that will stay with me for a long time; his eyes closed in concentration, lust-swollen lips distended round my cock and white-blond hair floating on the water like a cloud.

It wasn't until well after lunch, and I was half-way through potting up a rare Chinese Dragonwort that I realised he'd been trying to distract my attention from those noises in the attic.

He had succeeded.

But a plan had been half-forming in my mind while I'd been lazing in the bath – before Lucius had temporarily driven it out. I'd need a few things that I'd not bought with me to the Manor, but that wouldn't be a problem. It meant a trip into Town, and there was no time like the present.

I set down the pot, careful to avoid the little tendrils of flame with which the transplanted flowers were testing their new soil, and made my way back into the house.

As I passed the study I put my head round the half-opened doorway. Lucius was scratching away at another batch of letters. He waved the end of his quill in acknowledgement.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I need to go out," I said."To Diagon Alley. There's some tools I have to have."

He looked up sharply then. "Diagon Alley? Don't the Weasley's have a shop there?"

"Yeah," I said. Of course, he'd know all about his old enemies. I knew that even before the War he and Arthur had been rivals. "As a matter of fact I thought I'd call in at the Weasley's joke shop," I said. "Just to pass the time with old schoolfriends – you don't need to come. I'm sure that you can find something else to occupy you while I'm gone."

He gave a rueful smile. "You really didn't read the details of that Contract, did you, Longbottom? You're supposed to be my keeper – wherever you go, I, perforce, must go too. Even into the Gryffindor's den."

Oh. Damn. I'd forgotten that particular complication. Still, having a shadow didn't need to be an inconvenience.

"As it happens," he continued, blotting the last of his letters and folding it into an envelope which he sealed with his signet ring, "I too have business in Diagon Alley. I'll get my cloak. We can floo from the main hall."

Double damn. Was the sex worth this?

I watched him rise to his feet, subtle as a cat, and followed the clench of his arse as he walked from the room. Yes, it was worth it. I don't think that the Ministry had intended me to keep such a _very_ close eye on Mr Malfoy. Or for both of us to enjoy it.

***

It was raining in London. The cobbles of Diagon Alley and its environs were slick with puddles, and most of the shops had their awnings down, which made the place seem even more crowed than usual.

I accompanied Malfoy to Gringotts, where he collected a purse of Galleons, and a surprisingly warm welcome from the goblins. He browsed around the herbalists while I picked up some seeds and bulbs, and paused as we passed the re-opened Wandmaker's shop. Ollivander had long since retired and, although the sign still bore his name, the place was now owned by a distant cousin and managed by a Bavarian witch who had trained in Regensburg. The window held a bright display of crystal-encrusted cases, carved wizards staffs and leather-sheathed wands. I surprised a look of longing on Lucius's face, the same expression that was on the faces of the boys clustered round the window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. The Ministry had put an absolute ban on him acquiring and using a new wand, but...

"It can't hurt to look," I said. "Why don't you pop in and have a chat with Frau Zeiller while I drop in on the Weasleys? We can meet at the Leaky and have lunch there. Save the Ministry the trouble of sending something over this evening."

"The Contract..." he said.

I shrugged. "I know where you are. And it's not as if you can leave Diagon Alley without me. Meet you in half an hour."

He looked for an instant as if he was going to argue further, and then he threw a glance at the wandmaker's window, where the proprietor was just reaching for a box which was the centrepiece of the display, and the temptation was too much. "Half an hour," he said, and the sentence was punctuated by the tinkle of the bell above the shop door as he passed through.

Hoping that I'd not done something completely stupid, I made my way to the brightly painted façade of _Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes_.

They had exactly what I wanted, and the transaction didn't take more than five minutes, but I lingered for a chat with Percy, who managed the London end of the Weasley's business these days.

He was just telling me about the problems that they were having finding staff for both shops, since George and Arthur were spending most of their time developing new products, when the door opened and the last person I’d expected to see walked in.

Lucius looked around briefly, and then approached the counter. There was a gaggle of shopgirls there, chatting together and pointedly ignoring the customers – I could see Percy's point about getting staff.

Lucius hesitated for a moment, unused to being ignored, then drew himself up and, without saying a word or making a sound, waited to be noticed.

It took about two and a half seconds. The girls gradually fell silent and one, a brassy bottle-blonde I recognised as one of the Greengrass twins, Astoria or Asteria (I never could tell them apart), was nudged by her companions into turning to the counter.

"Yeah? Didja want summat?"

Lucius blinked. "I had hoped to find my son working here," he said. "Draco Malfoy. I have a message for him."

Beside me Percy moved. I shushed him, and drew a little further back into the storeroom in order to watch this exchange without being seen.

So _that_ was why Lucius Malfoy wanted to visit Diagon Alley. He had hoped to be able to speak to Draco.

"Oooh. You Draxie's dad?" She shifted her gum to the other side of her mouth, then, under Malfoy's harsh stare, extracted it with one long chartreuse-painted fingernail and casually flicked her wand to vanish it. "He's not 'ere at the moment. Arthur's got 'im back in the workshop bottling Flying Fizzbangs. 'E's ever so good at it. Just snatches 'em straight out of t'ovens. Must be 'is Seeker's reflexes."

Lucius looked dazed. Whether at her flattened vowels, the use of a diminutive for Draco that I'd never heard before, or the thought of his pure-blood son actually doing a job of work I couldn't be sure. "I see. Miss…?"

"Greengrass." She held out her hand. "Pleasedtameetcha. Draxie's told me all about you. And the Manor. It sounds cool. I’d like to visit sometime."

"Yes." I saw Lucius suppress his natural instinct to kiss the lady's hand and manage a perfunctory Muggle-style handshake. She didn't seem to notice the slight. He visibly refrained from wiping his hand on his robe, and extracted a long parchment envelope from beneath his cloak. "I wonder," he said, proffering it to the girl, "If you will be seeing my son, could you pass this to him. He doesn't seem to be receiving my owls."

She giggled. "Oh yeah. He's hopeless at letters. I wrote every day when we was in France, but he never wrote back. Got me a lovely broach when I got back though. A sort of boat set with real diamonds."

Lucius looked as if he was going to pass out at any moment. I took pity and stepped out of the storeroom.

"Mr Malfoy," I said. "Sorry you had to come looking for me. I've finished here. Shall we go and have lunch?"

The last time I saw someone look that relieved was when I'd offered the Minister's wife a lift home after the Victor's Charity Ball and then discovered that someone had pinched my broomstick. "Longbottom, " he said. "Of course. Well, goodbye, Miss Greengrass. Do pass my greetings to Draco."

We both needed a long glass of Firewhisky when we reached the Leaky Cauldron. Lucius had calmed down a bit by the time we'd finished the roast wherry and started on the martleberry pancake dessert.

"Draco told me," he said, pushing his fork around on the plate, "That he wanted Great Great Grandma's diamond nef to seal a business deal. Not as a leg opener for some tarty Hufflepuff."

"It could be worse," I pointed out. "He could be sucking Weasley cock rather than screwing the Greengrass girl."

Lucius blenched. "Longbottom, I really didn't want that mental image. Going down on a Weasley! Salazar! I bet even their cocks have freckles."

I didn't confirm that, though the mental image it conjured of Draco's smooth blond head bobbing over Ron Weasley's red curls made my own cock perk up. "Calm down, Lucius," I said. "What's the worse that can happen? The Greengrasses are an old pureblood family. I expect that she could be educated. And don't you want grandchildren? The chances are that they'd have twins too. "

"Yes," he said. "I just didn't expect Draco to take the initiative." He speared a roll of pancake viciously.

I thought about that. Maybe the Wizengamot had been more devious than I'd have expected by reviving the fostering codes. Draco was learning the benefits of freedom and tolerance with the Weasleys, while I…

I watched Lucius chasing the last of the sauce round the plate before devouring the final mouthful of his dessert. He caught my eye, and his own sparkled in response as he slowly withdrew the empty fork from between his lips. His adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed.

"Like you took the initiative with me?" I asked.

He didn't pretend ignorance. "Last night?"

"Yes. I mean, you're rich, successful – I mean, before all this – you had Ministers, the Hogwarts Governors, judges, even the goblins, and V… Voldemort himself, trusting your judgement, asking your advice, giving you power. The Prophet used to call you 'one of the most important wizards in England'. Why would you, of all people, want to…"

"Suck cock? Seduce an innocent schoolboy?" One elegant blond brow lifted. Damn. How did he do that? He had to practice in front of a mirror. "Because you are innocent, aren't you, Neville? Never had a girl at Hogwarts? Or a boy?"

"I never had the opportunity," I said. "I was too busy fighting dark magic. Fighting you."

"You learn fast though. Very well, I'll tell you why I prefer to submit in the bedroom." He leaned forward over the table, his voice so low now that I had to strain to catch the words. If he'd asked I’d have put up a privacy charm the instant this conversation had begun to take this intimate turn, but Lucius Malfoy did not ask. Not in a public place. In public, he gave orders.

"Because it's the only place I can," he whispered. "The only place where I can afford to take orders rather than to give them. Just as, for you, it's the only place where you can be in command. You've grown up being pushed around by everyone; your grandmother, Dumbledore, Snape. That damned Prophecy. Even Harry Sainted Potter. Don't you want to give orders for once?"

It was a seduction. I'm not so innocent that I couldn’t recognise that. But it was a very sweet seduction. Lucius Malfoy of the silver tongue could talk anybody into anything. I just couldn't forget what else he could do with that tongue.

He didn't wait for me to answer. Instead he sat back in his chair and said, at normal volume, "I think we've finished all we need to do here, don't you? Shall we floo back to the Manor for coffee and liqueur?"

"Yes." I tried not to sound too eager. Lucius dropped a couple of galleons and some silver on the table, more than enough to cover the cost of the meal with a generous tip for Tom, and rose to make his way to the fireplace, leaving me to gather the parcels and follow. Clearly while we were still in a public place he was very much in charge, but the instant we got back to the Manor I planned on shedding my robes, in the grate of the main hall if necessary, and insisting that he dealt with the raging hard-on that was the result of our conversation.

I emerged not in the hall, but in the bedroom of the villa annex where we'd woken that morning. And although he must have arrived only seconds before me, Lucius was already kneeling at the foot of the bed, head bowed, long-fingered hands gripping his thighs with a force which, incredibly, betrayed nervousness.

I dropped the parcels where I stood, and shed my robe, throwing it atop his before stepping forward to put my crotch level with his mouth. I started unbuckling my belt but before I could go any further he'd raised his hands and had his long fingers on my buttons. He had a certain amount of difficulty unfastening them because I was so hard against the fabric, but at last it was done. I sprang free and that glorious mouth was on me.

For a while there was nothing in the world but that mouth; lips, teeth and tongue working to bring me orgasm. He released me just before the moment, and I came over his shoulder, come dripping down the ends of his hair and onto his shirt. I watched it breathless with reaction, and then met his eyes. They were desperate, hungry.

My mind was churning with speculation in the aftermath of our earlier conversation. What should I do now? Bugger him? I didn't think I could – even given the current satiated state of my prick. I reached automatically for my wand to cast a cleaning spell, but before I could do so Lucius spoke.

"You should punish me for that," he said. "I should have asked whether you wanted me to swallow."

The Contract required that he should teach me 'the duties of a squire in the service of a Gentlewizard'. I had a feeling that the Ministry and the Wizengamot had not anticipated this particular 'duty', but I had promised to learn, and while Lucius had said that he wanted me to take command he would still have to teach me how to do that. It seemed that he realised that too.

"How?" I asked. I could hardly take house-points or give him lines. And punishment suggested something much more – physical. I looked around the room, taking in the erotic wall paintings. Men and women coupling in every conceivable position, a boy weighing his enormous cock in a balance scale, a woman raising a long whip over a kneeling youth.

"Whatever you want, Neville."

He was still kneeling, though his hands were more relaxed now.

"Strip," I said.

I watched as he obeyed me, awkwardly, on his haunches because, I realised, had not given him any command to rise. The shirt, with its spattering of my come, was discarded first, revealing his broad chest, a scattering of fine scars, visible only where they laid trails through the fine blond hair that ran from his sternum to the thicker thatch at his crotch, and the fading, but still shocking tattoo of the Dark Mark on the inside of his left arm. I looked away from that, focussing on the movement of his fingers as he unfastened his belt, the emerald eyes of the snake's head clasp flashing as he moved.

And that gave me an idea. I crossed the room to pick up my own discarded trousers and slid the belt free of the keepers. I took the buckle in my fist and wrapped a coil round my hand. When I returned to Lucius he had raised himself up onto his knees and was using both hands to push his trousers down. He was not wearing underwear. He looked up as I stepped back in front of him, and stopped, very still, with his hands clenched on his naked buttocks when he saw the belt.

Then he nodded, and finished stripping with surprising dexterity given that he could not stand.

I kicked his trousers out of the way, and shook out the length of my belt. The long end trailed to the floor in front of Lucius.

"You really want this?" I asked.

He leaned forward slightly and kissed the leather. "Yes."

My breath caught in my throat, but I managed to croak a command. "Turn around."

He did so, presenting me with the round whiteness of his arse. I lifted the belt.

"Six," I said. "I'll stop if you tell me to."

The only answer I got was the dip of his head. His long hair brushed the floor.

I took a steadying breath – and struck.

The first blow wasn't as hard as I'd intended, or, probably, as he had expected, but it left a broad dark pink mark across his buttocks.

The second and third paralleled it, successively darker as I learned my own strength and his limits. He hissed through his teeth as the third landed, and I wondered whether it was pleasure, pain or protest.

By way of experiment, I changed the angle for the third blow, striking upwards across his right buttock, across the line of the earlier strokes, and repeated it rapidly on the other side, before I lost my nerve.

He jerked, and his hands curled to fists against the floor, bracing himself for the end.

I did the same. The last blow fell – I swear by accident, because I hadn't expected him to push back into the punishment, or to be so aroused – across the base of his balls.

He threw his head back with a breathless sound that might have been a scream or a groan. I dropped the belt and reached out with both hands, not sure whether or where I should touch him. One hand landed on his abused buttock, and he flinched. The other curled around his still-jerking cock and he moaned as I squeezed and stroked the last of his come from him, spilling over my hand, his thighs, and the floor.

We knelt together for a while, coming down from the intensity of an experience that I barely understood. After a while he shuddered under me and turned his head to look at me over his shoulder with an expression of satisfaction.

"Thank you," he said. "You learn fast, Neville. How do you feel?"

"Shouldn't I be asking that?" I moved back and gently touched a finger to the already fading marks on his buttocks. He shivered. "Does it hurt?"

"Yes." He said, moving rapidly to sit on the edge of the bed. "But pain isn't the point. And you haven't answered my question."

I thought about it. I'd come once, and I'm young and fit enough to be ready for more. But the real pleasure had come not from my own orgasm, or from carrying out the chastisement – in fact I'd hated that – but from seeing his pleasure, his release, and knowing that I'd been the instrument for that. I didn't think there were words for what I was feeling at that moment. But I knew that I wanted to feel it again. "I need to think about this," I said.

He nodded. "It can be very intense. And it's not for everyone. Let me know when you want to talk. Meanwhile," He rose, and made his way out to the bathhouse. "Let's get cleaned up. And then we can have that brandy and go to our beds."

So that was what we did. Separate beds, and in the main house. I wondered whether Lucius kept the villa rooms solely for this use – and whether Narcissa knew about it.

I fell asleep wondering.

***

It was the click of a door closing that woke me. Not overhead this time, but further along the corridor. Lucius's rooms. I heard footsteps pass along the passage and the creak of the stairs as he ascended. I had been right to avoid stepping in the centre of those treads, though the master of the house didn't seem to feel a need for caution. Maybe he thought I'd been exhausted by our earlier session. If so, he'd clearly forgotten what it was like to be nineteen.

I smiled as I slipped on my dressing gown and picked up the box that I'd bought from the Weasley shop. As I reached the foot of the stairs I heard the click of the lock above and saw a flare of light as it opened – and then closed, leaving me in the gloom of the stairwell.

I climbed as cautiously as before, though the sounds from within, the setting down of a tray, the pouring of water or wine, the murmur of conversation, would have covered any noise I made. I reached the alcove by the door and settled into it, opening the box and extracting the latest product of the Weasley's ingenuity. 'Mouse ears and eyes' Percy had called them. Smaller than the Extendable Ears, and able to be slipped through a keyhole or under a door to allow someone outside to see and hear whatever went on beyond.

I donned the glasses that formed part of the set, and rolled the operating part of the apparatus under the door.

It took a moment for me to adjust my own sight and hearing to the light and the angle. And another minute for me to understand the information.

The room was small, probably one of the old servant's bedrooms, and the moonlight, shining through the single round window that I'd identified from the garden below, showed it to be sparsely, but richly, furnished with a desk below the window, a bed pushed against one wall, a pair of leather winged chairs on either side of the small fireplace, and a low table beside the bed on which there was a tray laid with a meal for one person, silverware and glasses just as we had had them in the grand dining room below.

There were two people in the room. Lucius, pale hair unmistakable in the gloom, was moving around the room, using a taper to light the various candles. The bed was occupied by a dark figure. I thought at first that it was a woman, from the long hair spread on the pillow, and the way the quilt delineated wide hips and curved over stomach and thighs. But the hand that reached for the glass, broad, potion-stained and short-nailed, and the arm from which the covers fell back to reveal a mark the twin of the one I'd recognised on Lucius's, was unmistakably masculine.

I raised the glasses to rub my eyes, unsure that that the magical device could be working properly, but the voice and words that reached me removed all doubt. The person who was concealed in the attic of Malfoy Manor was Severus Snape.

They were talking, in low voices, but the Ears picked up every word.

"So," said Snape, not missing Lucius's wince as, task completed, he lowered himself to sit in one of the armchairs, "You went through with it?"

Lucius nodded. "Of course. I've done worse for the Dark Lord. Besides, I'm Contract-bound to give the boy an education."

You've certainly done that, I thought, without much surprise, or, oddly, resentment.

"I just don't like the idea of you prostituting yourself, Lucius."

Even in the gloom I could see the grey eyes twinkle with sardonic amusement. "Oh I hardly think that it counts as prostitution if both parties enjoy it," he said. "Besides, you are currently in no fit state to indulge in anything strenuous."

Snape gave a snort. "The boy is a good deal younger and fitter than you are, Lucius. Don't make the Dark Lord's mistake and underestimate him."

Lucius shrugged. "It was a mutually useful arrangement. And on balance I think I'm ahead."

I smiled behind the door. And Snape seemed to feel just as sceptical.

"And in return, you got a measure of freedom," he said, reaching out to pick a roasted cockatrice leg from the dinner plate. "Did you get the things we need in Diagon Alley?"

"Oh yes." There was a note of smugness – I mean more than usual – in Lucius's reply. He reached into a bag beside his chair and pulled out a long, ebony box. It looked familiar, and very expensive, bound with silver and set with gemstones, but I couldn't remember where I'd seen it before. "You recall," he said, "the conditions that the Wizengamot set on my obtaining a new wand?"

"I remember you ranting about being prevented from using magic for personal grooming. I think that the Wizengamot didn't trust you to confine your use of a wand to clearing up split ends and sunburn. If I recall correctly they banned your from acquiring a wand to use in casting spells, charms, curses and hexes. They were particularly insistent on the latter."

"Indeed. As I said to Longbottom, it always pays to read the small print. The ban is on acquiring **A** wand. So when I saw these in the window of Ollivander's, how could I resist?"

He opened the box, which I now recognised as having been on display at the wandmakers. Inside was a pair of matching wands, nestled in velvet, and accompanied by a roll of soft cloth, and three silver-stoppered bottles of oil, wax and wandmaker's powder.

Snape dropped the meat back onto the plate, wiped his fingers on the bedcover, and reached out to lift one of the wands from its setting. "A matched pair of Duelling Wands," he said. "I haven't seen one of these in England for years."

"Ollivander didn't approve of duplicating his wands," Lucius agreed. "And after what happened with Potter's wand, I can't say I blame him. But our new wandmaker learned her craft in Bavaria, where duelling is rather more accepted. They're oak, with Kneazle-whisker cores, built to Competition standards – you can't cast an Unforgivable with them."

"If the Wizengamot find out that won't placate them," Snape said, giving the wand he held an experimental swish. The patch of grease on the bedcover vanished.

"Then we make sure that they don't find out. And this way we both have new wands. For which I, for one, will be relieved." Lucius took the case back and returned it to the bag, withdrawing a second, more utilitarian, box in its place. This time Snape looked a lot more interested.

"So you didn't entirely forget the reason for your trip to London," he said, taking the box and unfolding it to reveal it as a small apothecaries case containing a selection of potion bottles and pills. "Did you get everything?"

"Everything on your list. If you forgot anything I daresay I could persuade Longbottom to get it now."

Outside the room I smiled wryly. Lucius overestimated his charms, and his power over me. But it might be fun letting him try persuasion. When I paid attention again Snape was itemising the contents of the box.

"Raspberry and nettleflower, good. Dandelion: root, leaves and flower. Anti-nausea potion. Ginger, chamomile, aconite..." His fingers stilled over the bottle. "Lucius, I'm not turning into a werewolf!"

Lucius shrugged. "The apothecary suggested that it might help – if we decide on the terminal solution."

Snape gave him a sharp look, then nodded. For a man who had apparently survived death once, he seemed to be contemplating a repeat performance with remarkable stoicism. Muggles used aconite as a poison. While the other ingredients...

I gave an involuntary gasp as I realised the implications of those herbs, and Lucius's words.

They heard me. The next thing I knew the door flew open and I was dragged into the room by the collar of my gown. My glasses fell to the floor and I heard a crunch as Lucius's foot descended.

"Oh dear." Snape sneered, "Longbottom. Still sneaking around things that don't concern you?"

He meant it to intimidate, but it had been a long time since I'd been eleven and having my first Potions lesson.

"No," I said. "The Ministry sent me to keep an eye on Mr Malfoy. Anything he does concerns me." I glanced across at Lucius, who was watching the exchange with a faint smile on his lips. "Hiding a Dark Wizard who everyone thinks is..." I hesitated and Lucius interceded.

"Gone to inhabit his portrait?" he asked, as if I needed genteel euphemisms for death when I'd spent my life in its shadow.

"At this point in our lives," Snape said wryly, "Secrecy has become a habit. Both of my masters wanted me dead. It seemed easiest to oblige them."

This was going to be complicated. I moved to sit in the other wing armchairs which faced the bed and the round window. Snape shifted up on his raised pillows. His hair, longer now than Lucius's, lay across one shoulder, partially concealing a dark scar that was all that remained of Nagini's bite.

"You should have been dead," I said. "Harry said the snake had killed you. And by the time anyone went back to the Shrieking Shack it had been burned to the ground. How did you end up here?"

It was Lucius who answered, reaching out to push aside the collar of Snape's nightshirt to reveal a chain bearing a crystal pendant. "Phoenix tears," he explained. "You don't actually need a phoenix to shed them directly onto a wound, though they're less efficacious this way. Severus was able to apparate back here and we've been using other healing remedies to complete the process. Though there does seem to be an unwanted side-effect."

"Which remedies?" I asked, though I had suspicions."

Snape scowled at me. "Who died and put you in charge, Longbottom?"

I shrugged. I wasn't afraid of him any more. I gave him a look and said one word. "Nagini."

His eyes narrowed, but he refrained from making any further comment. Lucius answered my question about the healing remedies.

"Dragon's Blood, of course – to replenish the blood-loss. And mandragora to counter the poison. And arcanum, to focus Severus' magic."

My suspicions had turned to certainty. Especially knowing Lucius's sexual preferences, and having heard those sounds through the bedroom ceiling. "Please," I begged, closing my eyes in denial, "Please don't tell me that after all that you went and buggered Snape."

Lucius nodded. "Why not? Perfectly normal healing sex magic. Nothing unusual about that."

"And it didn't occur to you that being bitten by a gigantic snake, dosed up on anti-venom and blood-replenishing potion and then being apparated out of a bloody war zone isn't 'perfectly normal'?"

"We didn't exactly have a choice."

"You've got an extensive magical library downstairs, Lucius. I've seen copies of Zosimus, Villanova and Simon Magus. Didn't you think to look in it before feeding that mixture to a wizard? Even if Snape had been a witch it would have been a risk. You must know what it takes sperm to create."

"Are you saying," Lucius sounded dangerous, "That Severus is _pregnant_?"

"What did you think it was? Stomach cramps? Something that could be dosed away with nettle tea?"

"My priority," said Lucius, stiffly, "was saving Severus's life. This could have been a side-effect of Nagini's poison. Some sort of internal parasite."

"Close," I said. "but not exactly. The combination of dragon's blood, arcanum and mandragora, together with the addition of human sperm can result in the creation of a homunculus. I mean, normally you'd put all that into a properly prepared vessel and feed the nutrients in via a retort but..."

"You _are_ saying that Severus is pregnant!"

Snape hadn't stopped scowling, and now he made his own protest. "Don't be silly Lucius. The boy never was any good at potions. He doesn't know what he's talking about."

I felt the blush bloom on my hot cheeks. Snape always did that to me. But he was the one who didn't understand the situation here. And for once I wasn't going to be dismissed. "Just because I'm no good at measuring and mixing ingredients doesn't mean that I don't know the theory. And I _have_ been reading in the Malfoy library. There's a whole section devoted to alchemic magic. Even the Muggles knew this stuff."

Lucius nodded. "In this case I think the boy does know what he's talking about. So. You're going to have a baby. The question is – does he have any suggestions about what we do now?"

At this stage I felt ready to tear my hair out. I looked from one eager face to the other, and it dawned on me, not for the first time, that Voldemort really hadn't picked his people for their ability to think things through.

"A homunculus," I said, slowly, remembering the pages of illustrations in the grimoire that had been a third year alchemy text, "Is not a baby. It's a fully formed human – except that it does not have a soul. You should know. You worked for one for months."

"What!"

I sighed. I didn't want to think about this any more than they did, but I remembered waking Harry from a nightmare and his description of the – thing – that Pettigrew had thrown into the cauldron, and activated using his flesh, Harry's blood, and the corpse of Voldemort's own father. Lucius hadn't arrived until the spell was complete, but Snape must have known what Pettigrew had done, if not from the Death Eaters then from Dumbledore. He was shivering now, hands cupped around his belly.

"No," he whispered. "It was never intended. Lucius... you didn't..." Abruptly he leaned over the side of the bed and was copiously sick.

Lucius laid a hand on the back of his neck, a comforting gesture that looked as though he'd done it before – as he probably had. "I swear I was trying to heal you," he said. His eyes met mine, and they were pleading. "Neville... you've read the books. Is there anything we can do? Some herb or charm..."

I swallowed. By rights I should have reported all this to the Ministry, got Snape into proper care at St Mungo's – and betrayed all the laws of chivalry and loyalty of my Contract with Lucius.

And I wasn't going to do that. I reached out and picked up the wand-case, opening it and offering the contents to the two wizards. There were spells and herbs that could reverse this, but it would need the full power of all three of us.

"Okay, guys." I said, as each took a wand, "This is what we're going to do."

END

**Author's Note:**

> AFTERWORD
> 
> The Wizarding World is very old, and very traditional, so I have used a few old ideas in this.
> 
>  _Page and Squire_ : I've played around with the wording and concept of Medieval chivalric customs (as seen through the romantic Victorian lens) but the principle of sending boys from good families to a local Lord for training in knighthood is a real one.
> 
>  _Roman Villa_ : Lucius's cellar is based on the undercroft of the Roman temple at Colchester (which still exists beneath the current Medieval castle) and the Temple of Mithras excavated on London Wall). There are no existing complete villas in the Muggle British Isles, but I see no reason why the Wizarding World should not have preserved one while continuing to build on the same site. Littlecote house in Wiltshire has the remains of a large Roman villa in its grounds, complete with impressive mosaics.
> 
>  _Homunculus_ A small, fully-formed adult humanoid creature created by magic. Neville's comments about Voldemort's return in GoF have been added to this version. As he notes, several magical texts (those cited are real) set out the 'recipe' for creating a homunculus - dragon parts, sperm, 'arcanum' and a selection of metals are common ingredients. The herbs mentioned (with the exception of aconite) are traditional remedies to assist during pregnancy.


End file.
